China oil paintings

And as that facetious question stared up at her in huge print, Mrs. Bunting turned sick - so sick and faint that she did what she had never done before in her life - she pushed her way into a public-house, and, putting two pennies down on the counter, asked for, and received, a glass of cold water.
As she walked along the now gas-lit streets, she found her mind dwelling persistently - not on the inquest at which she had been present, not even on The Avenger, but on his victims.
Shudderingly, she visualised the two cold bodies lying in the mortuary. She seemed also to see that third body, which, though cold, must yet be warmer than the other two, for at this time yesterday The Avenger's last victim had been alive, poor soul - alive and, according to a companion of hers whom the papers had already interviewed, particularly merry and bright.
Hitherto Mrs. Bunting had been spared in any real sense a vision of The Avenger's victims. Now they haunted her, and she wondered wearily if this fresh horror was to be added to the terrible fear which encompassed her night and day.